


A Strange Inner Peace

by essieincinci



Series: No Finer Mess To Be Found [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Belly Kink, Chubby Kink, Feeding, M/M, chubby bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essieincinci/pseuds/essieincinci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CPB timestamp. Steve, Bucky, and Super Bowl food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange Inner Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fountains of Wayne's "All Kinds of Time"
> 
> Thanks to alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody for the read through, and all the tumblr folks who encouraged me.

Steve and Bucky stay in bed until about two in the afternoon on Sunday. They’re not really doing much, just lazing around and refusing to admit they’re awake and should probably just get up already. Steve closed the shop for the day - not like he’d be losing a lot of business, not on Super Bowl Sunday - so they took the opportunity to sleep in. Steve’s been working on some commissions, and Bucky’s been deep into the winter harvest with the garden society that Pepper hipped him to, and the Boys and Girls Club kids he’s been working with.  It’s been a few weeks since they’ve gotten to just lounge around in bed together, and their honeymoon cruise isn’t for another few weeks, still.

“Are you ready for some football?” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s hair.

“It’s only seventeen days until pitchers and catchers,” Steve mumbles back. His countdown’s been running since New Year’s. He has a clock in the shop, though he doesn’t need it. Bucky’s pretty sure he has the countdown memorized to the hours, maybe even the minutes.  

Bucky rolls his eyes, mostly affectionately. “You finished the cookies yet?” He rolls over, stretches his arms above his head, waiting for his back to crack. He might have to get Steve to stand on it, it’s stiffened up overnight from the digging and bending.

Steve makes an unintelligible “mmfm” sound and slithers his way back over to Bucky, burrowing in under him again. “Yeah. But I still have to decorate them.”

“Better get your lazy ass out of bed, then,” Bucky says, shoving Steve’s shoulder away from him.

Tony’s holding the annual party at his house this year, “just an intimate affair with a dozen or so of my closest friends.” He hasn’t been holding special events at the club as much lately, overwhelmed with Pepper’s last trimester and preparing for the baby. He and Bruce are in the middle of a silent stand-off regarding getting a nanny. Bruce currently has the upper hand, since Tony’s last argument was, “I had a nanny through my entire childhood and I turned out just fine!”

Pepper refuses to weigh in, telling Bucky that it keeps them occupied and leaves her alone to do all the hard work of actually growing a person.

Darcy’s holding a betting pool over how long it’ll be before Tony turns the club over to one of his many potential successors. Steve put money down on Tony’s old pal Rhodey coming in after retiring from the service to run the club for him. Bucky joked that Stark was abandoning the club to start his own branch of the VA.

“There’s an _entire table_ of dips,” Steve says, eyes wide and round as saucers when they walk into the entryway of Stark’s house. Bucky shrugs and takes the platter of cookies over to what seems to be the dessert table area.

Tony had the affair catered, and, as is often the case where Tony’s concerned, provided at least one of every football or football-related food anyone has ever heard of.

“Welcome.” Pepper waddles over, hugging them both awkwardly. “It looks like Pinterest threw up in here. You should see the nursery,” she says, standing in the open doorway in her tank top and shorts. “Oh my god, it feels amazing outside! Think it’ll be an early spring?”

Steve shivers. “It’s fourteen degrees outside.”

Bucky shrugs out of his leather jacket and snatches Steve’s beanie off his head. “Pep? You wanna come back in? Steve’s turning blue over here.”

“Oh, poo,” Pepper pouts. She’s trying to stop swearing before the baby comes. Bruce had a cousin whose first word was “ _shit_ ” and she does not want to be that family. “I’ll be in in a bit. It just feels so nice out here.”

“Two months to go, Pep,” Bucky says softly, patting her hand as he leads Steve into the house.

“I have never been happier not to have a uterus,” Steve says.

“Damn straight.”

“But it must be nice to be warm all the time.”

There are two giant televisions on opposite walls of Tony’s living room. This in itself isn’t new. One is usually on the financial news, which Steve is pretty sure is more affectation than anything else. Tonight, though, one is, of course, showing the game. It’s somewhere in hour four hundred and seven of pregame coverage.

“See, Buck, this is why The Series is better. All this hype is spread out over four or five games instead of crammed into - ”

“Steve?”

“Shut up, I know,” Steve grins at him unrepentantly. “I’m not wrong.”

“The hype for the series is spread out over one hundred and sixty-two games before you even get to the playoffs. The  Super Bowl is the culmination of twenty games. That’s it.”

“No arguing in my house!” Stark yells at them.

The other television is showing baby animals. Jane, Darcy, and Thor hover around it. “It’s the puppy bowl!” Jane bounces, and Thor is telling tales of riding a neapolitan mastiff when he and his brother were children.

“His brother had me do a weird-ass eight-legged horse all down the back of his thigh,” Steve whispers to Bucky. “He paid me twice what I quoted him, tipped me in a case of homemade apple butter, kissed me full on the mouth, and I never heard from him again.”

“Well, sure,” Bucky says, because what else is there.

When the commercials come on, everyone sort of swarms close to the football screen and their conversations die down a little. The amount of cooing “aww”s that are coming out of Thor are, quite frankly, terrifying. Darcy has her bookie-visor on, and what looks to be an official referee’s jersey.

“I slept with some guy and he left it,” she grins. “Lousy in bed, kind of a sanctimonious asshole with a hard-on for the Steelers, but the _guns_ on him. So… ” She pulls out her notebook and untucks the pencil from behind her ear. “Prop bets?”

“Yeah, let me in on that action,” Bucky says, leaning close to look over the pages with her. “Tony picked the _over_ on forty points in the first half? Has he never seen a super bowl?”

“No,” Bruce says, sitting down with a huge plate of nachos. “He hasn’t.”

Pepper finally comes in from the doorway, apparently sufficiently cooled off. She sits down next to Bruce, and starts picking chips off his plate. Bruce places his hand gently on her stomach and smiles softly before eating his share of nachos.

Maria joins them, her own plate loaded with wings and chips and dip. Peggy and Jane are devouring the vegetable platters, and debating the various marketing techniques in play for the evening. Peggy’s analyzing the commercials so she can do the opposite of whatever she sees for the boutique.

“My market is pretty much the antithesis of this crowd,” she says to Jane.

“Even though something like ninety-eight percent of all televisions will be showing this program?” Jane does love her statistics.

“It’s not a program, Jane,” Bucky calls out.

“Yes, it is a referred to as a match!” Thor states.

Bruce and Bucky both hang their heads in defeat. While they’re not looking, Thor winks at Steve. Thor’s a phenomenal troll, because for some reason no one ever sees it coming.

“I’m going to get something to eat. Bucky?”

“Yeah, babe, bring me back. Well. Some of everything. You know what I like.”

“No foreplay in my living room, you two,” Tony shouts.

Steve carefully makes his way back over to the sofa and sits next to Bucky precariously balancing his heaping plate on his knees. “What’d I miss?”

“Anthem, three commercials, and the coin toss,” Bucky says, popping a corn bread mini muffin stuffed with a cocktail weenie into his mouth. “I won us five bucks off the prop bet, though.”

“Well hell, now I can retire,” Steve says. “Try this.” He holds up a pita chip topped with something creamy and green.

“Guacamole?”

“Nope, edamame dip. It’s your sister’s recipe. She specifically asked me to make sure there was something here that wouldn’t cause your heart to explode.”

“Of course she did.” Bucky tries it and then makes a face.

Steve laughs. “So that’s a no. How about these?”

Over the next couple of hours, Steve refills the plate when it runs low, paying more attention to Bucky watching the game and absently sampling a little of this, a little of that than watching the game himself.

Bruce and Bucky make the same type of noises at the same times, sometimes of the positive variety, sometimes the negative, and once a “What the fuck, ref, are you blind?” that made Bruce stand up and take a walk outside with Pepper.

“Are there any more of that last thing, the sweet, nutty. What was it?”

“Brown sugar sesame sticks,” Jane says. “I brought those.”

“Good call. Are there any more?”

“I’ll get them,” Steve says. When he comes back, bringing the whole mixing bowl with him, the room’s empty.

“Um.”

Bucky tilts his head back over the arm of the couch and gestures half-heartedly at the television. “Halftime show means bathroom break.”

“Oh.” Steve sets the bowl down and sits on Bucky’s thighs and trails his fingers across Bucky’s stomach where his shirt’s ridden up a little bit. “How long do you think they’ll be gone?”

Bucky lets out a weak chuckle, closing his eyes at the sensations of Steve’s cold fingers on his warm, tight belly. “Not long enough, babe. ‘Sides, we still have another half.”

“Oh,” Steve says again, pushing his thumb into Bucky’s belly button.  

Peggy comes back into the room, then, heels clicking on the hardwood to announce her presence. She rolls her eyes. “Company manners, Steven.”

“Right.” Steve’s fingers are still tracing random patterns across Bucky’s stomach.

“And then aliens landed in the backyard,” Bucky says, his eyes slitting open to make sure the game’s not back on yet.

Steve nods, his fingers still rubbing in little circles under Bucky’s shirt.

“You crashing here tonight, shortcake?” Tony asks. “Steve. Steve. We’re out of food, Steve.”

“What?” Steve looks up to find the whole crowd watching him. He pulls his hands back into his lap. “Sorry. What?”

Bucky laughs at the blush the spreads down Steve’s neck. “Are we staying here tonight?”

“Oh. That’d be great, yeah. Thanks.”

‘Then go have sex in the bedroom, and leave my couch unsullied. I have a child coming into the world soon,” Tony says.

“We’re not having sex,” Steve protests.

“Steve, you’ve been having sex since you walked in and saw the buffet tables,” Pepper says.

Steve looks to Bucky for defense, but Bucky just shrugs. “Have a meatball, Steve.”

“I never should have married you,” Steve says, mouth full of meatball.

“Too late now,” Bucky kisses him obnoxiously on the cheek.

After the game, after helping clean up, Steve and Bucky make their excuses and say goodnight, drifting behind Peggy and Maria down the hall to one of Stark’s guestrooms.

“We have a lot of sex in this room,” Bucky says, glancing round before stripping out of his shirt and groaning at how full he is.

“We have a lot of sex in every room,” Steve says. “The room expects sex, Bucky. Let’s not disappoint it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“How full are you?”

“Very.”

“Too full?”

Bucky raises one questioning eyebrow. “For?”

Steve points at the nightstand where the cookies he brought from home are waiting. “The catering tables were already so full, so i thought, you know, I’d maybe save these until later.”

“Later being now?”

Steve nods.

Bucky slides his fingers into the hair at the back of Steve’s neck, brushing his thumb across the blush staining his cheeks. He bends down and kisses him hard, and Steve’s hands come up to knead into Bucky’s stomach, softly, mindful of everything Bucky’s had to eat already.

Bucky crawls onto the bed and waits while Steve arranges himself on Bucky’s thighs. “Ready?”

Steve nods and reaches for one of the iced football-shaped cookies. He holds it out for Bucky to take a bite and waits for him to swallow before he leans down and kisses him, licking at his lips and chasing the taste of royal icing.

Bucky braces one big hand on Steve’s hip. “You put cinnamon in these?”  

“Little bit.”

Bucky groans softly. “Good.”

Steve slowly and methodically feeds him the rest of the cookies, pausing between each one to adjust himself and rub Bucky’s belly.

When he finishes the last one, Bucky clenches his fingers on Steve’s hip, feeling full and heavy and sleepy under him, like everything is right in the world when Steve gasps as Bucky pulls him in tight to thrust against his round, hard belly.

“How many days, babe?”

“Sixteen at midnight,” Steve says, smiling into Bucky’s neck, pushing his hips forward, breath coming faster. “Then the cruise, then back for opening day.”

“Can’t wait.”

*


End file.
